


Darth Vader In Louboutins

by Salon_Kitty



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Gen, challenge: Blue Christmeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 22:21:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9260282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salon_Kitty/pseuds/Salon_Kitty
Summary: "You don't know this woman like I do. I had a chance to deal with this before, and I gave her a pass. That's what I get for being sexist."Three times that Mike and Lydia meet.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sylvestris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylvestris/gifts).



 

**

 

He’s sitting up at the bar reading his paper when he sees light flash in the mirror, sunlight arcing across the worn, glossy wood of the counter and touching the glass in his hand with dazzling fanfare. He turns his head to look behind him, squinting slightly to shield his eyes from the glare.

A woman stands there as the door slowly swings closed behind her, bringing the room back to its comfortable darkness.

Mike stares for a brief second before turning back to his paper to fold it up. If that’s her, things are about to get complicated.

 

**

 

He takes the booth in the corner and slides in, his back to the wall, and sets his drink down, then places his hands one over the other on the table. She walks towards him in all of her diminutive, frenetic power, the click of her heels drawing stares. She moves like she means it. There’s something commanding about her, in the striking style that she carries herself – head tilted up, poised, assured – she is used to getting what she wants. Mike isn’t surprised this is Gus’s choice; he’s worked for the man little more than six months but he sees their similarities instantly. They inhabit space like they own it and they’re just loaning it out to everybody else.

 

“I’m assuming you’re Gus’s guy, right?” she says with a tart note. She waits for him to nod before sticking out her hand.

“I’m Lydia.”

That’s interesting. Just Lydia, then.

He shakes it. She has the firm grip of a woman who’s been working the old boy’s club for a while now.  

“Mike. Ehrmantraut.”

Lydia points to the chairs on the outside of the booth’s table.

“Um, should I – should I sit down? Or are we going elsewhere for this?”

Mike casually drifts a few fingers in her direction.

“By all means. Have a seat.”

She glances around the bar as she moves to sit down, her long hair pouring over her shoulders like ink. There’s a nervous energy to her, her breaths light and fast as she takes in the setting, her hands flittering like birds as they hover over the top of her enormous purse. When she finally removes her glasses, her eyes are startling. There’s a fire in them that absorbs all the light that’s left in this dreary dive, and for a moment, Mike is twenty years younger and simply responding to a beautiful woman. But he can tell right away that she’s dangerous and he tamps that spark down. She’s too hungry. Hungry in the way that gets men killed.

“So, uh ….” Her mouth turns up into a grin. “I don’t know, am I supposed to start this? Gus said he needed us to meet, but he didn’t exactly …” Her eyebrows raise, the question left dangling. Someone coughs and she snaps her head in their direction, her eyes widening. When she turns back the grin is gone.

“Mike, I’m not here to tell you your business, but are you sure this is the best place for this? I mean, I’m not worried anyone here is going to recognize me, obviously, not from the circles I travel in, but you have to admit, we kind of stick out.” She looks to the other side of her where a few patrons at the bar have taken notice of their presence. “People are staring at us,” she sneaks out of the side of her mouth.

“It’s a bar, Lydia. The regulars tend to notice new people. It’s just something you do. I wouldn’t worry about it. This place is solid. If I had concerns, we wouldn’t be meeting here.”

“Wow, okay, no need to get worked up. It was just a suggestion. I’m not the … whatever guy. I understand you come very highly recommended. But we do have delicate matters to discuss, so perhaps next time –”

“You know, this is going to go a lot quicker if we get to said matters and stop fretting about location.” He cocks his head to the side. “I’m the guy, okay? I pick the place for the meet. That’s what I’m paid to do. Now we’ve had a bit of a security breach lately, hence Gus asking you to see me. There’s going to be a change in the delivery service. I’ve got another guy taking Daryl’s place. We’ve got the details for you in the package I’m sending home with you.”

Mike picks up his paper and sets it on his lap, slipping the tawny yellow mailer inside of its fold. He slides it over on the table for Lydia and she grabs it quickly, stuffing it into her purse as she darts glances around the room. Mike sighs before holding up two fingers to the bartender. The man nods back in acknowledgment, pulling a bottle from the row of amber glass behind him.

“I think you could use a drink.”

“What are you talking about, it’s not even noon,” she scoffs.  Lydia’s got her head bent as she gropes through her bag, peeling back a corner of the mailer to peer inside. “Who is this new contact, anyway? I’ve never heard of this place. Golden Moth? Do you think it’s that easy for me to just switch distributors? There’s a protocol set in place. Financials, presentations on why we’re going with a new company, reports on their earnings, inventory overhauling, I can’t just –”

“Lydia,” he cuts her off again. “Look at me.”

She stops her movements and gapes back at him. The bartender comes up behind her to set down their drinks and she startles, eyeing the server with contempt.

“Thanks, Frank. That’ll do.”

Mike hands off his empty tumbler and wraps steady fingers around the new glass. He’s got to cut it off after this one. He’d sworn off liquor after Matt, after what happened with Hoffman and Fensky, but with everything that's gone down with Salamanca in the last year and now business with Fring, taking his mornings with bourbon has become goddamn necessary.

He sips in the silence. Sets his drink back on its advertisement pad with a sniff.

“Now. Gus hired me to do a job, and that's why we're here. You are paid very well, Lydia, and change comes with the territory. Daryl met an unfortunate end. The new guy is Chow. You’ll be dealing with him in the future. Simple as that. I don’t care what reports you need to file, or what spreadsheets you need to create, but the end result is you do your job, Lydia.”

She’s not pleased as the notch between her brows can attest.

“Um, you’re right; I do get paid _extremely_ well. Because I’m worth every penny. I think you’re a bit confused in the way this hierarchy works, Mr. Ehrmantraut. You’re the muscle, Gus and I are the – well, we’re what make this entire operation run. So, I think you need to listen to –”

“To Gus,” Mike finishes. “I need to listen to Gus. The man who pays my salary. Look, if you want to call him and quibble about details, fine. Do it on your own time. I’m just here to give you your new precursor contact. If you’re not interested in your drink, then I think we’re done here.”

Her impeccably manicured eyebrows arch high, the curve so perfect you could surf off it. Lydia’s shock registers with a slight shake of her head.

“Wait. What just happened? Gus wanted us to meet. He said it was important. We’re supposed to be setting down some ground rules, the two of us. The goal is to make things more efficient and in order to do that, I need you to understand how things are handled on my side of it.”

“Oh, I understand.” Mike takes another sip of his whiskey. Grunts to clear his throat. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Lydia.”

“But –” There’s another crinkle by her eyes, lines across her forehead. She is a woman unused to things not going her way. “I feel like there’s more for us to discuss.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. I just thought that….” She eyes the drink for a moment, then on impulse picks it up and takes a swig. “Oh, shit,” she whispers once she puts it down.

“Not a bourbon fan?”

“No, I just … I shouldn’t be drinking.”

“On a new health kick?” he asks with some sarcasm.

She takes another gulp and gasps. “Um, no.” Lydia pats the back of her hand against her mouth. “I just remembered I didn’t have enough milk expressed in the freezer.”

“Come again?”

Lydia glances up demurely. “I’m still breastfeeding. On and off again. My nanny is trying to wean my daughter onto that powdered crap so I can have a break. It’s just – I can’t keep going into meetings with – well, never mind.”

“You just had a baby?” Now it’s Mike’s turn to be disconcerted.

“A few months ago. I couldn’t really take too much time from work. Peter has me on a lot of projects right now.” She takes another sip, closing her eyes as she does so.

Mike feels a little impressed by her in the moment.

 

**

It’s right before Thanksgiving when he sees her next.

She asked to choose the meeting place and Gus allowed it, so now Mike finds himself in front of a fancy restaurant with its name frosted on the window. The lunchtime crowd is moving in and out, the conversation a constant buzz, and he can see her already, just inside, near the door. Not exactly low key, but there’s not much he can do about it other than turn foot and leave.

She smiles broadly once she sees him, as he is escorted to the table. Her hair is gleaming from the sun at the window, like the pelt of some sleek jaguar, it shimmers as it moves. She stands up to offer her hand.

“Mike. It’s so good to see you.”

“Lydia.”

A waiter comes up as soon as they’re seated and she says something to him in French. Mike does his best to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. She’s wasting her pretensions on him.

"I told him to bring you his best bourbon," she explains with another dazzling smile. She must be buttering him up for something.

"So ..." he looks around the restaurant, every table filled with suits or skirts. "This isn't exactly what I had in mind for a meeting place. I thought you were worried about sticking out like sore thumbs." He looks down to his windbreaker and chinos. "I'm not exactly dressed for the occasion."

“This was Gus’s idea.” She says it fast, pulling open her menu as she scans both sides.

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

She looks up, her eyes wide, and there’s a hint of fear in them.

“No, really. I – I mean, not this place, _specifically_ , but, he did suggest someplace a little more,” she spreads her hands out, “well, public.”

“Hmm,” he grumbles.

“I have something I need you to take back for him,” she adds, nodding to the floor.

Mike takes a peek at the side of the table and sees a large bag by her right foot and his eye can’t help but ride up the length of her leg, the skin like milk, the shape making him think of the girls he used to date in his youth, gamine and smart. Lydia’s skirt ends right at the knee, but there’s a split that lets him see just a little more skin. He brings his gaze back to the table, feeling just the slightest bit unsettled. He should have picked the place.

“So … how’s the new route coming? We’ve got another ten trucks to add onto the schedule.”

“Oh, of course. About that. I have some ideas.”

Mike takes a beat.

“Ideas?”

“Yes. I think we need to concentrate on another port of entry. It’s becoming too unstable at the border. I think we need to consider air travel.”

“Do you, now?”

Mike levels a hard look at her, emphasizing his dissatisfaction in his demeanor. He’d spent enough time vetting the drivers; he refuses to let all that work to be for nothing.

Her smile falters.

“Well. Yes, I mean – that’s my – well, my professional opinion, if that still carries any weight. Although, I would love, you know, to hear your advice on the matter, of _course_ , Mike.”

“Why have this type of operation set in place at all if you’re going to dismiss its benefits, Lydia? We have _invested_ partners who’ll make sure our product gets to where it needs to be. They’re pretty proficient in that respect. We’re not asking you to handle any of that, all you have to do is make sure the check-in weights are where they need to be during each stop on the route we agreed upon.”

“I – I understand that, but –”

“So what’s the problem? Because from where I'm sitting, I don’t see one. The latest issues with border police have been taken care of. There’s nothing for _you_ to worry about.” He steeples his fingers on the table as he watches her eyebrows furl closer. “Now. When can we expect the new truck schedules?”

There’s a brief moment when her face seems to freeze, a cloud passing over those brilliant eyes, and then the fire flickers inside of them and she’s back, smiling graciously, even beatifically.

“Let’s talk more after our lunch, Mike. Okay? I want you to try the peach galette they have here. It’s amazing.”

She blinks, like a doll, and Mike is pulled out of that fire for a second but it’s all that he needs. Fishing glasses from the inside pocket of his jacket, he flaps his menu wide, skirting the desserts list on purpose.

“I’ve given up refined sugar,” he grumbles as he puts them on.

 

**

 

 

Mike rings the bell as he stands outside of the heavy aluminum door. There’s a strand of Christmas lights surrounding it, pulsing a soft white trim every other second. By the look of the building, it appears to be one of those former warehouses turned into ridiculously high-priced lofts. There’s already a stunning view of the city below, from a hall window that runs from the ceiling to the floor.

He’s got an early morning flight back to Albuquerque if he wants to be there to help Stacey with the Christmas wrapping. There are several big boxes at home requiring more than a few rolls of paper. He smiles as he thinks of his granddaughter’s changing tastes. Yesterday it was puppies and Hungry Hippos, now it’s Barbie’s Power Wheels. He wonders if he’ll be around when she develops an interest in boys. Maybe he could do without that.

The door whooshes open and Lydia stands there, radiating glamour in a silvery silk dress, the metallic sheen of it catching the lights until Lydia twinkles like the tree decorated in the corner of her apartment. The top is cut into a halter and Mike tries not to take note of those smooth shoulders.

“Mike! You’re here! I was worried I’d missed you.”

“You said ten o’clock. So here I am.”

He steps inside and closes the door as she waltzes over to her desk. The view is even more breathtaking from inside, as stunning as the way her hair flows down her naked back. Houston shines back at him in neon blues and reds and long beads of white lights, while the Christmas tree by the window bathes the entire room with a cornflower glow.

“Nice place,” he comments.

“Thank you, I got it last year.”

Lydia’s pulled something from her desk drawer and pockets it in the palm of her hand as she whips her hair back over her shoulder. It’s as black as the backdrop behind her, the night like oil that’s about to subsume her. She’s as lovely as ever, but Mike isn’t paid to think about that. He isn’t paid to think about those legs of hers that look as soft as butter. He stays near the door out of habit, waiting for her to have use of him before he can disappear for a drink at the nearest bar. He’ll need one after the day he’s had.

“Where’s the little one,” he says to fill up the seconds. She’s standing close to him now.

“Oh.  She’s asleep. Delores put her down before I got home from the party. There’s been loads of excitement for the holidays. She’s pretty worn through by bedtime.”

Mike looks around for photos but there’s nothing on the walls but artwork.

“Well, this time of year is a lot more fun with kids. My granddaughter still believes in Santa Claus so … it’s sweet.” She’s standing right next to him now, looking up at him with devoted interest.

Mike sweeps a glance under the Christmas tree. Its bounty is rather modest. He imagines that Lydia is not the type of woman who showers her daughter with Barbie Power Wheels.

“How old is she now, anyway?” he asks.

“Kiira? She turned three in August.”

“That’s a good age.” He has a vision of Matt at three. That beautiful smile. Opening the presents on Christmas morning with the sort of unmitigated glee grown men reserve for championship games.

“Well. Anyway,” she begins. “I wanted to send you back with something for Gus. It’s not something I can put in the mail.”

She folds a small packet into his hand. He opens his fist and sees bluish crystals lining the plastic baggie in his palm.

“What’s this?”

“Our competitor. My source did some digging and it’s actually from your corner of the map. Someone is infiltrating our market. Gus will need to hear about this if he doesn’t know already.”

“Let me get this straight. You couldn’t send this in the mail for fear of reprisal, but you expect me to take it through airport security and onto a plane? You couldn’t just send this with a truck?”

“What, and I’m supposed to trust the driver that this will arrive at its intended destination? You’re Gus’s most trusted man right now. He told me so himself. Surely you can figure something out? I thought this was your forte?”

Mike sucks in a breath and counts to three.

“No, moving product is not my forte. I thought that was more your line of work.”

An eyebrow rises as her breath quickens and Mike notices again how perfect they are, how the curve of them draws you in like watching a cat lick its tail.

He tries again. “And why do you think Gus would be interested, exactly? We don’t sell a lot in our own backyard. That’s not Gus’s style.”

“Competition is competition, and frankly, we can’t afford another operation taking a bite out of our sales. After the cut we hand over to our partners in Juárez, profits are a little flat right now.” She gets excited for a breath, her eyes going wide. “But just look at it! It’s blue.”

Mike scans the contents of his hand again. “Yeah, I can see that. And that’s important why, exactly?”

“Well, people are talking about it. It’s got immediate cachet just by virtue of being different. Why aren’t we talking to the manufacturers? We should be making them an offer.”

“Whoa. Let’s back up our horses, Lydia. Who’s to say this is even worth anything? There’s all kinds of people making meth out there. Doesn’t mean any of it’s any good, I don't care what color it is.”

“That’s why I need Gus to give this to his chemist for testing. This could be what we need.”

“Excuse me? I wasn't aware we needed anything. It's my understanding that Gus is quite happy with the way things are.” He hands it back to her. “We don’t need to fix what ain’t broke.”

She seems incredulous, mouth agape as if he’s somehow not comprehending her.

“Mike. You’ve been with us long enough to know that our profits have softened by a good margin. Something is going on and we need to be at the forefront of this.”

“No, I don’t think we do,” he states.

She hasn’t taken the sample from him yet so he casually tosses it on her side table, where it lands next to a grotesque piece of pottery in browns and tans.

“I really think this is an avenue we need to explore.” She moves a little closer. “Mike, Gus will listen to you. I know he will. Don’t take the sample, then. There’s apparently plenty in the area that you can investigate for yourself. I mean, that’s part of what you do, right? Investigate? Weren't you a cop at one time?”

"Who told you that?"

She's moved on to indignant. "I'm not stupid, Mike. No one had to tell me."

"I never said you were, Lydia. I just don't think Gus will be interested. He's more concerned about overhead at the moment."

"And what about you, Mike? What are you concerned about?"

“Me?” He gets a tingle, worried where this is heading. “I’m concerned that you’ve got _sources_ who seem to be distracting you from where your focus needs to be at the moment.”

Her affront is palpable.

“Oh, please, do tell me, Mike, where my focus should rest. As if you have _any_ idea what I deal with all day.”

Mike is just about done. He’s learned that there’s just no point in arguing with Lydia. She’s what they’d call a nor’easter in Philly; a whirling dervish of bluster and ruthlessness that will sometimes leave disaster in its wake. Attempting to dissuade her seems to only strengthen her resolve. He’ll just have to shut her down if she tries to move forward with this.

“Yeah, okay, well, as always, Lydia, it’s been a treat. Enjoy your holidays. And let’s try to concentrate on the business we do have, all right?” He turns to go.

“But wait!” She’s grabbed his arm and Mike is stopped short by her desperation. Once again, he’s surprised by her grip.

“Look, can’t we talk about this? I mean, think about it, Mike. This – this doesn’t even have to – I mean, we can, you know, look at this as an opportunity.” She smiles weakly, but her eyes are lit. “Just let me … if you could, I don’t know, sit down and let’s just … _talk_.”

“What on earth are we going to talk about?” he says with a huff. “This conversation is finished.”

She speaks in a rush. “We can go into business together. Gus doesn’t have to know.”

He freezes midway reaching for the door handle. So this is what she was angling for.  He steps closer to her so that they’re practically nose-to-nose and speaks just above a whisper, his tone threatening but very clear.

“You need to put that very silly idea right out of your pretty little head, Lydia. And you need to do it right now.”

“Do I?” She hasn’t let go of his arm and the heat from her where her hand is curled around his bicep seeps through his jacket. “We don’t even have to sell in the states. There is an entire _world_ out there, Mike. Places where the cartels don’t take notice. I’m just asking you to listen to a business plan. One that could make us a lot of money.”

She presses her other hand to his chest and draws her face near, rising up from her heels. Mike can feel her breath on his lips. There’s a mix of wonder and determination in that gaze, as if even she can’t believe whatever it is she’s about to do.

“Mike,” she breathes. “If you would just …” Her hand slides down the front of his shirt, fingers twisting around a button. “What can I do for you?”

Mike grabs her wrist and holds it hard enough to snap the bone like a twig. There’s the tiniest whimper from her but he ignores it, squeezing tighter. He feels like he’s just been torched, like he’s standing here in flames trying not to set the place on fire. And yet there’s a core of ice that’s run through him, steadies him, and that Paleolithic frost comes out in the only sentence he can utter at the moment.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Those eyes go wide, pupils dilating as a shot of fear hits them. Doll eyes that hold in a world, teeming with a thousand iterations of hunger and want. And he sees it there, in a flash, how she’s enthralled by that danger, wants to get close to it, to caress it.

But then her lashes come down; she’s closed her eyes. Her face looks flushed. Lydia quickly backs away from him.

“I’m – um – nothing, I’m not doing anything, Mike.” Her voice is a gasp. Horror sets into her body, her features. She turns away. The Christmas lights bloom bold for a second and her skin goes blue, those soft shoulders slumped in defeat or mortification, Mike isn’t sure which.

“Um, I suppose you’d better get going then, if you’ve made up your mind. I really am so tired, the office party seemed to go on forever. It’s been a day,” she rambles. Lydia gives him one more glance once she’s composed herself and its only a moment, but its enough for him to see the fire’s returned. “Could you let yourself out? I’m going to check on my daughter.” She starts to walk away but stops, not looking behind her.

“Merry Christmas, Mike.”

Lydia disappears into the bedroom.

Mike stands at the door and pulls himself together. He can forget this. He can forget that for one split second he wanted her. He won’t tell Gus about her proposition, and if he knows this woman at all, she’ll want to forget this, too.

He exits through the door and closes it softly behind him, before letting go of a long breath, an exhale that seethes.

The lights twinkle beside him as the hallway is flooded in a white glow.

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
